Lou
by APpLeBun
Summary: Hermione meets Lou while on a train one summer morning. Still enduring the loss of a loved one, she is most unwilling to trust him. But through Lou, Hermione learns more about herself than she ever expected. Rated K.


Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter (although I often wish I did).

A/N: Sorry that this is the first thing I've posted in months, but both my brain and my writing skills decided to take a leave of absence, due to being overworked and underpaid.

Anyway, I came up with the initial idea for this fic about a month ago. I think it's one of the saddest fics I've ever written, which is a stretch for me, since my sister (SuGaRLiLy) is usually the one to come up with well-written angst. So, now that I've type a bunch of waffle, go on and read ;).

**Lou**

It was an unseasonably cool sort of day in the middle of July – the 19th of July, to be exact. Every year, Hermione Granger would make the trip out to the countryside to visit her Aunt Camellia. She had made this journey ever since she was a little girl, for as long as she could remember. Even after she had discovered that she was a witch and attended Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, July 19th never passed without a visit to her aunt's house. Even now, as a young twenty-two year old woman, she felt she was in no position to break such an honored family tradition.

Hermione held her small suitcase with a tight grip as she set off towards the boarding platform. "Oh no," she said; it had begun to drizzle. A distant roar of thunder was heard overhead. The train pulled up to the station ten minutes later, and Hermione was jostled along by the crowd as people rushed to get on board and out of the rain, which, by now, had turned from a drizzle to a heavy downpour.

Hermione's eyes roved up and down the aisle, searching for that coveted empty seat. But not just any old empty seat; no, there was a trick to this. Select a seat next to a kindly-looking old woman, who was probably a sweet grandmother on her way to visit her newly-born grandson. Seats next to people immersed in books were also acceptable, as were seats next to hurried business workers with their eyes permanently glued to planners, cellular phones, date books, and paperwork. These kinds of people would let her be. But avoid at all costs people who seemed to be even remotely friendly or talkative. Sitting next to wide-eyed children, strange looking teenagers with piercings in places _other_ than their ears, and young women and men around her age was also ill-advised. She was not looking for friends or conversation.

Today, however, there didn't seem to be any silent grandmothers or avid readers with an empty seat next to them. In fact, there were hardly any empty seats at all; there were just two to speak of. The first was situated towards the front (plus: she could dart off immediately at her stop). It was also an aisle seat (another plus). Hermione's gaze shifted to the person in the adjacent seat – a middle-aged man in a suit and tie, who was presently looking out of the small window. _Harmless_, she thought. That is, until he turned away from the window, caught sight of her, winked, and patted the seat next to him in a suggesting manner. _Definitely not. _She quickly shuffled down the aisle towards the other empty seat, but saw, to her displeasure, a rather handsome man in his twenties, with hair the color of maple syrup. For just a moment, his gray eyes flickered towards her, and he smiled. _Never mind._ She'd stand.

She was making her way towards the front, where there were bars to hold on to, when someone called after her.

"Excuse me, miss? Miss?" It was the handsome man with the gray eyes. "Maybe you missed it, but there's an empty seat by me, if you'd like."

Hermione shook her head. "Oh, no I didn't miss it. That's alright though, I would just rather stand, thanks." She said this all fairly quickly.

"Don't be silly. I know I would hate having to stand on a train. There was this one time, when I was six years old, and my uncle and I had -" He broke off, smiling. "Well, that's enough out of me," he said. "Come on, I'll take your bag." And with that, he had taken her suitcase in one hand and her hand in his other, leading her back to the two empty seats, without even giving her time to refuse.

"Would you like the window seat or the aisle seat?" the man asked.

"Excuse me?" asked Hermione, who had not really been paying attention. "Sorry."

"Window seat or aisle seat?" he repeated, not unkindly.

Hermione could remember loving the window seat when she was a young girl. She would always beg her mother or father to let her have it, on the day before the trip, the day of the trip, on the car ride to the train station, and even while waiting on the boarding platform. Besides seeing her aunt, it was her favorite part of the trip; she could remember watching the lush trees, smooth lakes, hills, and clouds go by as the journey progressed.

Somewhere along the line, she had taken to the aisle seat. She had stopped caring about the little fields and hills and lakes, had stopped noticing the cloud formations she had found fascinating as a child. If she had dared to sit in the window seat, she would most definitely be boxed in by another person. The familiar feelings of claustrophobia would come over her. She was not ready to be so close to someone. Not yet.

"Um, aisle seat, it you don't mind," she said.

"Sure thing." The man took the window seat after putting Hermione's bag in the overhead rack.

A few moments passed in silence (which was a relief to Hermione) as he gazed out at the gale outside. _Relax_, she told herself. But what if this man was the talkative type?

It seemed he was. He turned to face her and said, "My name's Lou, by the way. Well, actually, it's 'Alexander Louis Reginald Bourbon II'."

For a moment, Hermione forgot to be polite. "What kind of name is that?" She gasped at her own rudeness and clapped a hand over her mouth.

To her relief, he, or 'Alexander Louis Reginald Bourbon II', laughed. "It's terrible, isn't it? But, like I said, everyone calls me Lou. Everyone except my parents, that is. What's your name?"

Hermione hesitated. This was how it always began.

"Oh? My…my name? It's Hermione. Hermione Granger."

"That's a very pretty name. At least you haven't got something stupid like 'Alexander Louis Reginald Bourbon II' for a name." She nodded, then turned her head, hoping he'd understand that she wanted to be left alone.

And he did, for a little while at least. Around ten minutes later, however, he was at it again. "I wouldn't fancy being out there. That's quite a storm don't you think?"

She nodded mutely again. "I've never liked the rain much," he went on. "I don't really know why. When I was a kid, though, my sister used to go outside in storms like this. My mother would always yell at her for it, after she came in with her clothes and hair sopping wet." He laughed again, and then looked to her, as though expecting her to tell some story from her childhood as well. She didn't.

"So what about you? Any siblings?" Lou prompted. She really wished he would stop talking to her like this.

"No, I'm an only child," she answered, careful that her responses weren't too long or too inviting.

"Ah, then you missed out on a lot," he said, putting his head back on the seat. "You have very pretty hair you know."

She almost laughed. Her hair was anything but pretty. It was much too frizzy and much too bushy for her liking. And it was…well, brown. Not chocolate brown, not mocha, not even chestnut brown. Just brown. "Thank you," she said, only to be polite.

"So where are you heading to?" he asked after a few more moments of rather awkward silence.

"Oh, um, to my aunt's house. I go there every summer. And yourself? I mean, where are you going?"

"To visit my sister. You know, the one I was telling you about before? It's her birthday this weekend, and I usually come down there every year, too. A lot of my other relatives are coming down to see her. She's turning twenty-six."

"That's nice," Hermione said. And it was. "So she's your older sister, then?"

"Yeah. She's got three years on me! But we were really close growing up, and we still are now."

Hermione nodded and shivered in her seat. Despite the cool and rainy weather outside, the air conditioning on the train was still on. She wished she hadn't left her jacket in her suitcase overhead.

Lou looked at her with a small smile, and held out his arms, offering her his tan overcoat. "Oh! No, no that's alright." She forced a nervous laugh. "I'll be fine."

He didn't say anything, but draped the coat over her shoulders. She saw he only had a t-shirt underneath. "But won't you be…?"

"Nah, I'm ok."

Who was this man? She had barely met him an hour ago, and all of a sudden, she was wearing his jacket (which, she grudgingly admitted, was very warm)? Things were going much too quickly, she had decided. For the past few years, she had struggled to block absolutely everyone out of her life. _I'll be alright,_ she had told them all. _I just need time._ Four long and lonely years had passed. Wasn't that enough time?

It wasn't like she hadn't tired. Everyday she woke up, thinking that today would be the day she would pick up her life where she had left off, before everything had happened, before all those years filled with bad memories. But she couldn't. No matter how hard she tried, she would always fail. _No,_ she would think to herself. _It's too soon. Not today._

And then, as though he could look into her mind and see what she was thinking, he asked the very question Hermione had been so careful not to have to answer over the past four years of her life.

"Have you ever been in love?" he asked delicately. This new question jerked Hermione out of her thoughts, and left her feelings as though she had been hit in the stomach with a speeding bludger.

"Hermione…?"

Her thoughts turned immediately to Ron. Ron, with his big goofy smile, his face peppered with sarcastic freckles. Ron, who had been one of her best friends ever since he and Harry had saved her from that mountain troll in first year. The same man who had asked her to marry him. She looked down at her hand, at the engagement ring. It was not a very large diamond at all, and Ron had tried to apologize for it. But it hadn't mattered, and she had told him so, because he loved her. He was going to marry her, and that was all she could ever care about. But he had died at the hands of Voldemort before he'd ever gotten the chance.

Hermione had not noticed that there were now tears on her face. She took a great shuddering breath. Lou saw her tears and the ring on her finger, and seemed to understand.

"I'm so sorry." He put a comforting hand on her shoulder. "Do you want to talk about it?" he asked, but she wouldn't meet his eyes. Some people had turned in their seats a little, turned to look at the sad and tearful girl who wasn't much of herself anymore.

Lou gave her a look that said, quite plainly, "_I understand what you're going through_._ But it's going to be ok."_ She wanted to take a hold of his shoulders and shake him, or hit him, something that would make him understand that he was wrong. _No, you don't understand me or what I am going through. No, it will not get any better at all. I want you to leave. Leave me. Leave me alone. _

Slowly, Lou reached into the pocket of his blue jeans and pulled out a very battered brown leather wallet. Several small, plastic sleeves held a large assortment of photographs. Hermione could see some of them as he flipped past: an older-looking couple standing in front of a brand new house, a little brunette girl standing with a teenage boy at the beach, squinting into the sunlight, and also one of a large (and rather hairy) Old English sheepdog sitting in someone's backyard with a tree branch in its mouth.

"Here's the one," he said, stopping on a photo near the very back. He carefully took it from its sleeve and cradled it lovingly in his hands, just before handing it to a weeping Hermione, who took the photo rather hesitantly. "We were on holiday in Greece with our families there."

She was a very beautiful young girl. Around seventeen or eighteen years of age, she had thick, strawberry-blonde waves of hair that hung loosely around her shoulders. Broad shoulders, Hermione noticed. Her skin was very fair, much like that of a porcelain doll Hermione had once received as a Christmas present from her Uncle Stuart (she had secretly hated that doll, with its wide, ocean blue eyes, but had accepted it with a polite smile all the same). The girl's eyes were slate-blue. Hermione also noticed her smile – wide and happy. But it wasn't the smile itself that caught her attention; it was the shiny silver braces. If Hermione had pieces of metal practically welded to her teeth (which, she reminded herself, would have happened had she listened to her parents) she would definitely not have been smiling so broadly.

Hermione's gaze shifted to Lou's photographic self. He, too, was happily smiling, with his arm around the blonde girl's shoulder. Somehow, this pictured seemed to comfort her in some small sort of way. She sniffed, and wiped away the last of her tears.

"She was beautiful," Hermione remarked in a shaky voice, now looking at the forget-me-not blue sky in the background. "What was her name?"

Lou didn't answer right away. He looked dreamily at the picture, held tight in Hermione's hands, as though savoring the name before actually saying it.

"Adele."

And suddenly, it occurred to Hermione just why he was showing her this photograph. "Adele," she said, the name rolling gracefully off her tongue. "And…and she…?"

"Died," he said quietly. "About six years ago." Six years ago…Hermione had been sixteen years of age, still in her fifth year at Hogwarts. "There was an accident, a…a terrible accident. She was only seventeen." Hermione had been right about her age. "It happened a few months after this picture was taken, actually." Lou frowned as he gazed at Adele's beautiful and slender face.

How could this be? Both she and Lou had lost the most important person in their lives. Yet…yet Lou was so much different than she was. How was it that, after losing the love of his life, he was still open to the love and kindness of other people, while Hermione shunted away from everyone? She felt utterly ashamed of herself.

Hermione had never talked to anyone about Ron. After his death, she had chosen to remain silent, to keep every last sad emotion bottled up inside her. She would not talk about Ron, or his death, or anything else about him with anyone, not even Harry. Talking about Ron's death would be the very act that would put him behind her forever. And she didn't want him to leave; she wanted him here with her.

But suddenly, something dawned upon Hermione.

_It was time to let go. _

She started out slowly, confident that Lou would be patient with her, understanding. "I was in love with someone, too."

He looked up suddenly at her, an expression that she could not decipher in his eyes. Was it pity? Sadness? Perhaps anxiety?

Mustering up her strength, she willed herself to continue. "His…his name was Ron. Ron Weasley, and he was…oh, he was everything." Lou smiled and nodded, knowing exactly what she meant.

"He was going to marry me," she said distantly, holding up her finger so Lou could see the ring. "We were engaged, but…but he was…."

A lump had risen in her throat, and she felt her eyes tearing up once more. She did not want to say it, she would not say it. It was much too hard, too sad. She had no desire to think or talk about it. _But Ron would not want you to be unhappy_, she told herself, and it was the truth.

"He was murdered. Three weeks before our wedding." Lou looked at her with an immense sadness, as fathomless as the deepest ocean. She thought it strange, that she would not talk about her fiancé's death with her friends or family, yet here she was, pouring her heart out to a complete stranger. Yet somehow, she felt…lighter. More hopeful.

"I'm sorry," he said again. He continued to look troubled. "At least he knew you loved him. Adele never…I mean, I hadn't…"

He looked at her for what felt like an eternity, and for the first time in a long time, Hermione felt like someone was actually seeing her.

"I never told her I loved her. She died before I ever could."

This time, it was Hermione who put a comforting hand on his shoulder. _We are just the same_.

"I think she already knew." Lou smiled.


End file.
